I’d mentioned this dish to him exactly once and he’d remembered.
Which was... unexpected. Sweet, even. But also completely baffling given he’d dismissed every warning I’d tried to give him about Dad’s manipulation.
I pulled the foil back and grabbed the fork. The scent made my stomach growl. I was still furious with him, but this wasMarco’s carbonara, and I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. No way was I going to waste perfectly good pasta just to make a point Griffin wasn’t here to witness.
I took a bite.
God, that was good.
Griffin didn’t say a word on the drive back to the hotel.
Hazel made small coos from her car seat, and while we sat in traffic, he reached back to tap her foot. The gesture was so sweet and natural.
“Tell Violet she needs to relax tonight,” he said to the baby, his tone light. Almost playful. “Doctor’s orders.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked, directing my confusion to his reflection in the rearview mirror.
His mouth curved, but he kept his eyes on the road. The Mexico City traffic was brutal this time of day, cars weaving through lanes with the kind of casual disregard for traffic laws that made my palms sweat.
“Griffin.”
“Hmm?”
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” He glanced in the rearview mirror at Hazel. “Right, little one? Nothing at all.”
The casual deflection should have irritated me. It did irritate me. But there was something different about the way he said it. Like he had a secret he was enjoying keeping.
I tried not to think about the way that made my stomach flutter.
We pulled into the hotel car park, and Griffin grabbed the baby bag while I unbuckled Hazel from her seat. She fussed, rubbing her eyes with tiny fists. Almost feeding time.
The lift ride to our floor was silent except for Hazel’s increasingly insistent complaints. Griffin watched her with that soft expression he got when she was cranky, like he found her indignation charming instead of ear-splitting.
The lift doors opened and we walked down the hallway to our suite. Griffin pulled out the keycard and pushed the door open.
I stopped dead.
Irises.
Everywhere.
Vases lined the console table by the door, the coffee table, the kitchen counter. Purple blooms spilled across every surface, filling the space with their delicate scent. The late afternoon light streaming through the windows caught the petals, making them glow.
“What is this?”
“What does it look like?” He brushed past me and headed for the fridge, seeming completely unbothered by the fact that our hotel suite looked like a florist had exploded inside it.
He pulled out containers of food and started arranging them on the counter.
I followed him, Hazel fussing against my shoulder. “Where did you even find irises in October?”
He shrugged.
“That’s not an answer.”
“Didn’t realize I owed you one.” But his tone was mild. Almost teasing.
